


Wrath of God

by det395



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 07:31:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15432081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/det395/pseuds/det395
Summary: She always wondered when she would snap. How much pain can a person take? One day, surely, her brain would shut down and protect her by making her completely batshit crazy, she would be seeing heaven while she walked through this hell. Going on a murder spree with no conscience stopping her had to be the gateway into blissful ignorance.An alternate episode of Season 2 Episode 5: "Seeds" in which June is beaten down and bleeding out, but doesn't go lay down in the garden to die. She has more sinister plans





	Wrath of God

_If there was one thing I learned from the Red Centre, that blithering, hellish place, it was how to create a weapon from a toilet just like Moira._

She sat on the linoleum floor in front of the toilet. Cross-legged, hunched over by the cramps ripping at the inside of her stomach. Blood was smeared across her crotch and down the insides of her thighs, _how could so much blood even be possible?_ All the toilet paper she’d shoved in her underwear the last couple days couldn’t stop this drought, she could feel it oozing out of her, making her weaker with every lost pint. The sharp red colour spread out on the white floor in a disturbing contrast, so dark and menacing in the absence of light.

 

In her hands, she held a flat metal rod, that arm that connected to the knob on the side of the toilet. Dull and thick, so she grabbed a stick from outside, one that had been hidden under the overlapping roof of the house, so it wasn’t damp and crumbling yet from the pouring rain. She rubbed it against the metal to sharpen it but only the opposite was happening, creating deep ridges in the stick that would surely snap soon.

 

It obviously wasn’t worth the trip outside, dripping blood and rainwater through the halls of the house. Anyone that walked through would know something disturbing was happening.

 

Was this dull rod enough to shove through someone’s skin, with the right strength? Could it break through that soft skin in the middle of someone’s throat, crush the voice box and draw enough blood to kill? Maybe if the voice box was crushed she could take her time bashing a skull in with the hardness of metal joined with the strength she’d made up in her arms after exercising every day for months in hiding.

 

She didn’t feel very strong right now, though. Her whole body was trembling, cold from the rain and weak from the loss of blood. Her baby was dead, she could feel it. No movement inside her, blood streaming out as though the baby was being milked of every last drop of life. Part of her was dead, too.

 

Her fault, that’s what she had said. The man in the meat shop, the bread truck driver, the family that she had made take her in. Her fault. Their little boy. Her fault. Hannah. Her fault. Mayday had given up on the Handmaids. Probably due to the selfishness of people like her, the recklessness when all you want to do is escape, even when you’ve been told it wasn’t safe.

 

She thought of Omar. How he’d told her it wasn’t safe then told her to stay put, be quiet. She risked it all for hope. The exit to this hell was in reach and she was foolish.

 

The guilt was nearly unbearable. She almost wished she could be the woman they wanted her to be, small, quiet, disciplined. Someone who didn’t cause a stir. Someone to hide in the shadows and do her duty. She could be Offred, she could say goodbye to the memories of Moira, Luke and Hannah, forget all the pain and do her duty. Maybe heaven _was_ real after all, maybe she could still repent. Just the thoughts helped her. She bowed her head, cleared her mind, focused on her duties, and for a little while, she couldn’t remember her pain. Couldn’t remember her family, friends, or old life, for those few days of peaceful dullness.

 

Then she had a dream. The first day she had slept at all was this night, just for a few hours. The exhaustion finally washed over her and her eyes closed before fear could come and rip her awake. Just like the olden days in that dull room when she wanted to sleep for as long as possible to escape reality before the nightmares began.

 

This wasn’t a nightmare, though. Moira was before her.

 

“You get your head up! You listen to your own damn advice! I got out of here, Luke got out of here, and so can you! You’re a fucking fighter, and you know damn well that shit wasn’t your fault. It was Gilead that killed them, executed them, those fucking _fascists!_ It was fucking Aunt Lydia, your rapist, that cunt bitch that slaps you around! It’s all those devils that created this society! You have nothing to lose girl, do _something_.”

 

It was like Moira came as a spirit, they weren’t together nor were they in any setting, it was just her presence, all the anger and pain washing through. Then she saw her face. Lovely and dark with eyes that shone brighter than the moon. Then she saw Emily, eyes so innocent and mouth so small and sad, as though she was pleading. Janine was there, upturned lip smiling, hoping and praying for her. All the girls around her, God, she wished she’d asked their names. Then there was Luke and Hannah. They had lost her, but they had forgiven her. Was there anything more she could ask for than their safety?

 

She woke up when it was the quiet of the night. Guards drove through the streets but it was much more obsolete. Serena was asleep in her master bedroom, Rita in her quarters, and the Commander in his study, as always.

 

June was done with hope and idealism, she was going to be smart. There was only so much she could do without ruining more lives around her. Who did she need to save, who _could_ she save?

 

Hannah. She hoped to God whoever looked after her was good to her. She hoped to God Hannah would never forget her. She hoped to God that the world would change before Hannah spent her whole life in this hell. The only thing she could protect Hannah from was this fucking family, from Serena Joy, and all her fucking threats. “If my kid is safe then yours is too.”

 

_Well guess what, Serena? I practically have a knife to ‘your’ child’s throat at all times. This kid is a part of me._

Well, maybe not, judging by the blood flooding her underwear.

 

Was Serena crazy enough to harm Hannah for a miscarriage? The question had been in the back of her mind ever since she’d seen the first little splatter of blood. Did she have another choice?

 

She could march into Serena Joy's bedroom, slam this metal rod into her throat before she could scream. She could clean up then head into Commander Waterfords study, rod up her sweatshirt sleeve, tell him she wants him. A scrabble game, at least. He would come close enough to reach. He would be stronger, though, she could hit him over the head with a lamp, more of a heavyweight to knock him out before she carved off his genitals.

 

Rita would probably wake from that, and how would she react to a Handmaid covered in blood? Would she sympathize with June? She would be scared at least, June could lead her to a chair with a weapon at her throat. Tie her up with torn fabric and shove a shirt in her mouth as a gag. _Tell them I tied you up before this all happened, you won’t be blamed._

Maybe, just maybe, she could drag the bodies out on the street for the world to see. This is my protest for this fucked up country. Attention other Handmaid’s, follow suit now.

 

Maybe she could wait for Aunt Lydia to come for her check-up. I’m sorry, Aunt Lydia.

 

Hopefully, Nick would sleep until she was done. She didn’t want to see his face when he knew what she’d done. The mother of his almost-child.

 

She stood up from the floor, feeling blood drip down her legs. A wave of dizziness overcame her for a moment and she clutched onto the sink, waiting for the vertigo to end.

 

When she was finally upright, legs a little shaky, she began to walk. _Drip. Drip. Drip._ So much red against her underpants, God, how was it possible.

 

She walked down the hall, feet flat and soft, making barely a pattering noise.

 

Two double doors at the end of the hall led to the main bedroom. Large and grand, where she’d laid down and been rocked into in-between the unhappy couple. She hated that it didn’t feel like the most fucked up thing in the world anymore.

 

She paused in front of the door, feeling her limbs tremble a bit more, completely out of her control.

 

Was she strong enough to deal with the consequences of her actions? Would it be the colonies, or would it be an execution? Or, would she just commit suicide, end it all?

 

Was she prepared to not wait and see if the world went back to normal? What if by tomorrow she would have been saved, and Hannah would be back in her arms?

 

Of course, that was absurd. The world had turned backwards tenfold and it would take more than an army to put things back to normal.

 

She opened the door, ever so slowly. Don’t be a coward, not now. She walked as quietly as she possibly could, aware that blood was following in her path everywhere she walked. The thought of how terrifying she must look made her smile. She must look powerful. Eyes deadset, smirk on her mouth, blood dripping down her body.

 

Serena hadn’t stirred, as far as she could see. She laid on one side of the big bed, curled up on the pillow. Her face looked as peaceful and nice as it did on the days she was friendly to Offred.

 

June had wondered just a while ago when she would finally snap. It had seemed impending for a while now, especially on those days where hope was small. One day, surely, her brain would shut down and protect her by making her completely batshit crazy, she would be seeing heaven while she walked through this hell. Going on a murder spree with no conscience stopping her had to be the gateway into blissful ignorance.

 

She asked Moira once, too, as they laid on their beds and whispered back and forth with teary eyes.

 

“How much of this do you think we can take? I mean, how much torture can a woman take before they snap?” She had asked, voice small. Two girls had been mutilated that day, one whipped on her feet and the other had her tongue cut out.

 

“Well, we can handle more than men, at least.” Moira smiled, big and crooked.

 

“Can you imagine the tantrums if roles reversed?” June said, trying to stay lighthearted. She didn’t feel all that resilient and strong-willed, though. She would have loved for a dashing male hero to come and save the day right now.

 

If she were a man, maybe she would have gone on a killing spree already. If she were a man, those hyper-masculine movies might be her sole inspiration. Misconceptions over stories like Fight Club might give her the inflated confidence to believe that she had the strength to just punch out everyone in her path to fix the situation.

 

God, was she ready to feel the breakage of skin under her own strength? Was she ready for blood to spurt in her eyes? Did she really know what to expect from stupid slasher films or was this going to be something worse?

 

She lifted the piece of metal just above her shoulder, holding it tight so it dug into her palm. She imagined she was the guy in Psycho, inching forward to the soft bed. Does she sit on Serena’s chest to pin her down? No, she can’t have her scream.

 

God, was she really going to do this?

 

A familiar feeling was rising up in her throat, a sob threatening to spill over. She clenched her teeth together, but the effort to stay still only made her hands shake worse. She’d never be able to aim like this.

 

Did she want to kill this family? They had raped, beaten, degraded and kept her hostage. She wanted them to see the pain they were causing; how did they always find ways to excuse their actions? How did the power trip blind them so much?

 

Could she really stoop to this level? It seemed more like torture to her. She would never see if she got justice, she would never have a chance to see her family again. Nothing had felt worse than being taken back home after nearly escaping, but nothing had felt better than almost being free.

 

Free from this hell might be nothing more than free by death at this point. It just might be her only saviour, to no longer be alive. They were watching everywhere, they would always be looking for her and she would never escape. She had her best chance and they were never going to let her get further.

 

She lifted the piece of metal up like a knife, staring at the smooth, pale neck below Serena’s strong jaw. So delicate and vulnerable. _This is going to hurt like shit, Serena. Don’t mess with a woman who’s got nothing left to lose._

 

What if this baby inside of her was alive still? What if she could save it still? Give it a peaceful world where women are strong.

 

A small noise came out of her throat and the next instant, the figure in front of her had moved. Her chance had passed, she knew it in a second.

 

Serena was awake in an instant, beginning to stir then flinching hard at the figure in front of her, a gasp ripping out of her throat.

 

It would never have worked, anyway. She couldn’t kill. Not June Osborne. She was as defeated as she was relieved.

 

June dropped the metal object, glad it barely made a sound against the carpet.

 

“What the fuck!” Serena kicked over to the other side of the bed, scrambling to reach the string for her lamp, legs exposed under her twisted up nightgown. She was flopping not unlike a fish out of water. Did _she_  expect June to kill her in her sleep?

 

The light came on and the true panic could be seen in Serena’s face, looking up and down at June’s body. Staring at the off-white underpants with a startling explosion of blood around her pelvis and down her legs.

 

“Mrs. Waterford. I need to go to the hospital. The baby.” June began to cry, sobs ripping out of her chest. More emotions than Serena could ever understand, but of course, it just looked like fear for the baby.

 

Serena screamed, so shrilling and loud that it made June lurch on the spot and then feel dizzy yet again.

 

“Somebody! Call an ambulance!” Serena shrieked. She crawled off the bed and took June in her arms, guiding her to the door, still shrieking.

 

No. She wasn’t alone yet. She would get out if it was the last thing she did, but she was getting out alive with her baby. There would be another chance for her to protest, she could feel it deep inside.

 

She swore she felt a kick inside her in that moment, while she was dragged down the dark, damp hallway. This one was strong, she thought.


End file.
